


Ortolan

by i_eat_men_like_air



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Accidental Ortolan Harry D.S. Goodsir, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Begging, Biting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Harry's Tits Make An Appearance Much To His Confusion, Just Generally Dubious As Hell, M/M, Metaphors Innit, Mild Blood, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Starring Harry Goodsir As Time Magazine's Most Frightened Little Lamb Of The Year, Stephen Stanley and the No Good Very Bad Psychological Breakdown and Subsequent Self Immolation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_eat_men_like_air/pseuds/i_eat_men_like_air
Summary: ‘Did you not, perhaps, consider that pinning open some,’ he paused, ‘thing as unpleasant as that might not be appropriate in a setting that is meant to be kept as clean as humanly possible?’Harry moved to protest, to insist that he had cleaned everything besides the table he was working at. Cleaned everything twice, in fact! But as per usual, the look on Stanley’s face silenced him. There was never any point in arguing with the doctor, particularly not when he was in a mood as apparently foul as this.‘My apologies, sir, I’ll finish up as quickly as I can, I’m sorry for causing any offence, I simply wish -,’ Stanley cut him off with a wave of his hand.‘Do be quiet, Mr. Goodsir, you’ll do yourself an injury. Just clear that creature away.’
Relationships: Harry D. S. Goodsir/Stephen S. Stanley
Kudos: 17
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	Ortolan

‘Mr. Goodsir, where did you get  _ that _ ?’ 

Doctor Stephen Stanley’s voice bounced off the silent walls of the sickbay, cold and clipped, causing Harry Goodsir to freeze where he sat. He had been working on a specimen that had been brought up from the depths that afternoon, and once it expired Harry had wasted no time in pinning the thing open upon the slab of wood he kept for such things. The muffled sounds of preparation for  _ Carnivale _ had caused him to miss the door closing behind Stanley, and Harry gulped as he raised his head to meet the gaze of the slender, imposing man. Stanley was not a man he had ever intended to cross. Everything he did was with the express intention of trying to do his job, to the best of his ability, and he had never understood why this always seemed to whip the doctor into a near-catatonic (but always silent) rage. 

‘I - I’m not sure, sir, Mr. Collins kindly called me up to the quarterdeck when it was pulled up from below and, well, I’ve been studying it here sir, in case there’s an emergency, so I can be at my post, sir,’ Harry felt his words run away from him, as he so often did, and daren’t meet Stanley’s eyes as he spoke.

There was already a thundery countenance to the man’s sharp, pale features, and Harry had the horrible feeling he was making it worse simply by being in his presence. He felt so small underneath that furious gaze, as if he were about to be devoured whole, like some kind of tragic, tiny ortolan. Stanley sighed above him, the sound made louder by the smallness of the room. 

‘Did you not, perhaps, consider that pinning open some,’ he paused, ‘ _ thing _ as unpleasant as that might not be appropriate in a setting that is meant to be kept as clean as humanly possible?’

Harry moved to protest, to insist that he had cleaned everything besides the table he was working at. Cleaned everything  _ twice _ , in fact! But as per usual, the look on Stanley’s face silenced him. There was never any point in arguing with the doctor, particularly not when he was in a mood as apparently foul as this.

‘My apologies, sir, I’ll finish up as quickly as I can, I’m sorry for causing any offence, I simply wish -,’ Stanley cut him off with a wave of his hand.

‘Do be quiet, Mr. Goodsir, you’ll do yourself an injury. Just clear that  _ creature _ away.’

Harry nodded, stumbling over himself to clear up his books and barely stopping his panicked hands from knocking a bottle of ink onto the floor as he tidied the space he had been so happily working at just moments before. He rushed under the withering gaze of Doctor Stanley, keeping his head ducked so as not to risk being set alight by the anger of it. It wasn’t long until all that was left upon the table was the creature he had been studying, its skin pinned against the solid wood, exposing its organs to the cold light that filtered into sickbay from their Arctic surroundings. Harry felt a little sympathy for the creature (some sort of squid, he believed), feeling more than a little pinned apart by Stanley in that moment. He unpinned it quickly, envying the creature as he folded it in on itself, wrapping it in a rag and placing it in the small cupboard he had been given to store his effects; hopefully it would be fresh enough to continue studying in his own time, away from Stanley and his frozen anger. What he would give to simply be folded away and tucked somewhere safe.

‘Is there anything I can help you with, sir?’ Harry asked, quietly, as he cleaned up the residue from the creature that stained the table a strange, pearlescent shade of grey.

Stanley ran his eyes coolly around the sickbay, taking in Harry’s work at cleaning the place correctly; he smoothed his thin, blonde hair down with an elegant hand and cocked an eyebrow.

‘It is obvious there is nothing useful for you to do here, Mr. Goodsir, do go back to your quarters,’ Stanley’s voice reverberated through Harry, and he blinked in surprise.

‘Sir are you - ,’ Stanley cut him off once more.

‘Are you deaf, Mr. Goodsir? Go to your quarters and remain there. I will call upon you if I feel you are needed,’ Stanley’s voice was mocking, lingering on the final word with something resembling a needling growl, and Harry ducked his head in acknowledgement.

‘Yes sir, do please let me know if you need anything.’

‘Anything, Mr. Goodsir?’ Harry blanched at the tone of the doctor’s voice, and raised his head in surprise.

Stanley’s face was still implacable, his arms crossed over his breast as they often were, but Harry felt his eyebrows rise a little as he noticed the doctor seemed a little out of breath, his chest rising and falling faster than it should be. His voice had been... _ suggestive _ ? Bizarrely suggestive, for a man who Harry was certain felt no more than the ice they found themselves bound within. Harry noted with confusion that the man’s knuckles were white as they gripped onto his sleeves. Harry blinked, unsure of how to react to such an odd show of whatever this was, and nodded meekly, not wanting to rouse what seemed to be affecting the doctor.

‘Yes, sir!’ he kept his voice light, trying to alleviate some of the strange tension that had wormed its way into his gut, ‘I shall be in my berth, if you should need assistance.’

With that, not waiting for an answer, Harry all but ran out of sickbay, the space suddenly feeling far too small for two men. Particularly when one was behaving as oddly as Doctor Stanley. Harry rushed back to his berth, narrowly avoiding a collision with several of the Marines as they headed up to the quarterdeck and squeaking an apology, much to their amusement.

_ What in the world was that? _

Harry mused silently as he shut the door to his berth, resting his head against the door and breathing heavily with the exertion of his rabid dash to be out of Doctor Stanley’s way. His thoughts once more turned to the ortolan, feeling sympathy with that poor creature as well now, as he remembered that bizarre expression on Stanley’s face. Even more predatory than usual, and striking some dark, shameful place within Harry that he frantically batted to one side. He rested heavily onto his bunk, reaching for the book at his small bedside table from force of habit and desperately trying to forget the unsettling encounter with his superior.

Harry was awoken by an insistent knocking at his door. He jerked awake, groggily unaware of when he had dozed off, and stumbled to see who it was. As he pulled his door to one side, he was speechlessly confronted with the seething face of one Doctor Stephen Stanley. 

‘Sir?’ Harry shielded his mouth as he yawned, and made to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Stanley, however, seemed to have other ideas. He grabbed Harry’s wrists, causing him to squeak rather shamefully, and shoved him backwards, following him into Harry’s berth and slamming the door behind them.

‘Sir! Whatever is the matter? Doctor Stanley, sir?’ Harry yelped at the unprecedented show of aggression, attempting (fruitlessly) to retrieve his wrists from Stanley’s cold, iron grip.

Stanley was breathing heavily again, looming over Harry with a wild, unguarded look in his eyes that made Harry’s stomach lurch. The doctor stared down at him, icy eyes driving into Harry like so many turns of so many screws. Harry matched his gaze, from sheer panic if nothing else, wriggling against the hands that easily wrapped around his slender wrists.

‘Anything, Mr. Goodsir?’ Stanley’s voice was gruff, cut-glass accent scraping over Harry and making his shiver.

‘Sir?’ Harry’s eyes widened, broadsided entirely by this bizarre show.

‘You said if I needed  _ anything _ , Mr. Goodsir, did you mean it?’

Harry gulped, afeared at what would happen if he spoke at all, let alone if he said ‘ _ no _ ’ to whatever unhinged character appeared to have possessed the cold, uncaring body of Doctor Stanley. He nodded frantically, wanting this encounter to end as quickly as possible so he could jam his door shut and hide below his blankets. 

‘You will ask no questions, Mr. Goodsir, and you will take what you are given? Do you understand?’

The truthful answer was ‘ _ no, absolutely not! _ ’, but once again Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on Stanley’s chest so as to avoid his gaze. Harry tried to find his voice, and winced when he finally managed to croak out:

‘Are you quite well, sir? You seem a little - a little frantic, sir - is everything alright? Sir?’

Stanley’s gaze was one of white heat as he grabbed Harry’s chin with one large, cold hand and tilted his face so their eyes were meeting. 

‘ _ No questions, Mr. Goodsir, _ ’ Stanley hissed, dropping his hand to Harry’s throat and  _ squeezing _ .

‘Sir I really must protest, this is quite - ,’ Harry was silenced as Doctor Stanley, a man who so often haunted his nightmares, a man who so consistently made him feel as little more than a worm, kissed him.

He yelped at the assault, unable to move as Stanley’s teeth sunk into his bottom lips, drawing blood almost immediately. Never had he imagined  _ this _ was what Stanley had meant by ‘ _ anything _ ’. Never in his life would he have thought that  _ Stanley _ of all people would pull him into such a thoroughly strange and intoxicating embrace. Harry winced as Stanley ran his tongue over the split caused by his teeth, worrying at the wound and sucking the blood from the injury with a growl that made Harry’s knees knock together.

Stanley was not an unattractive man, far from it, the truth be told, but his entire demeanour was one of the cold, disinterested physician; not this  _ creature _ that was devouring Harry’s mouth as if it were the only thing keeping him from perishing where he stood. Harry jerked forwards, his body responding shamefully to the heat of the larger man, as Stanley’s bruising mouth slipped to his throat. His teeth dug into Harry’s pale skin, biting  _ hard _ at the space between his whiskers and his collar. Harry whined at the pain of it, his hands scrabbling for purchase until coming to a stop at Stanley’s shoulders. He tried to push Stanley away, wanting to ask  _ what in the Hell _ he thought he was doing, but Stanley was far larger, and far stronger than him, and Harry quickly resigned himself to the sharp, alien feeling of the man ravaging his neck.  _ Ortolan, lay bare thyself _ . Harry’s breath quickened as Stanley’s large, strong hands unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his necktie. His head fell back as Stanley pulled their bodies flush, eyes fluttering closed as he felt a firm, hard heat between the doctor’s legs. What was he in the face of Doctor Stanley’s sudden show of passion but a small, helpless creature, born to be ruthlessly prepared, then devoured in a single bite? 

He felt, rather than heard, Stanley’s growl as he fastened his teeth onto the meat of Harry’s shoulder; alternating between the stunning throb of the bite and the luxurious relief of his tongue as he lapped at the bruises he was undoubtedly creating. Harry gasped, his hands clutching and releasing the thick wool of Stanley’s overcoat at the blinding sensation of it. Nobody had ever  _ bitten _ him before, much less in such a terrifying, overwhelming manner.

Harry whimpered, the sound pouring out of his mouth against his will, as Stanley pulled away and surveyed his handiwork. There was a manic, possessive glint in the doctor’s eye, so, so far away from his usual detached stare, and Harry felt his blood rush southwards as he tried to regain his composure. His collar was wide open, spread over his shoulders so as to restrict his movement, and he whined as Stanley reached forward and cupped the softness of his chest with either hand.  _ Was this what a lady would feel like? When a gentleman caressed her? _ Harry swallowed, loudly; this was no caress. Stanley was raking his fingers through the thick, soft hair on Harry’s chest, pressing the pale flesh beneath it together to create some perverse imitation of a bosom. The doctor was breathing heavily, his brow creased slightly in concentration as he moved one hand to dig into the marks he had left on Harry’s neck.

Harry whined as the dull pain echoed through him, arching into the touch and hissing when Stanley’s fingers moved from his shoulders and throat to find the dusky peaks of his nipples. The doctor tugged at them, fingers rough as he pulled little mewls and whimpers from Harry’s mouth. Harry wriggled against him, the darts of pleasure the doctor was dragging from him going directly to his prick as it rapidly hardened between his legs. He gasped as Stanley bent and took one of his nipples in his mouth, squirming at the hot, wet sensation of the man’s tongue as it moved in small, firm circles. His chest hair was matted with sweat and saliva as Stanley worked him over, moving from one nipple to another with slow movements of his tongue, before biting them mercilessly. Harry shoved his sleeve into his mouth at the sensation of Stanley’s teeth worrying at him, biting down firmly as the delicious agony of it made his prick ache against the seam of his trousers. He willed himself to stay still as he watched Stanley work; having very few coherent thoughts left in his mind, and no clue what the man would do if Harry tried to move or even reciprocate. 

Harry was near hyperventilating when the doctor pulled off and smashed their mouths together in a bruising, furious kiss. Stanley’s face was flushed, and Harry so desperately wanted to brush away the strand of thin, blonde hair that had fallen into his eyes as a result of his exertions. The doctor’s eyes were still wild, pupils blown so wide as to almost engulf the freezing blue of his irises, and his hand moved to Harry’s throat again, squeezing tightly. Harry tried his best to gulp in as much air as he could, before Stanley constricted his airway with a ruthless squeeze and stared into Harry’s eyes with a pleased, sadistic grin. Harry writhed uselessly, and began to paw at his shoulders for the lack of air. He didn’t think the doctor would kill him, but he couldn’t be sure; he had never seen him in anything close to this state before - a man possessed. The doctor’s piercing gaze brought Harry back to the unfortunate creature he had pinned open on his slab, spread open for all to see.

A sudden sickening feeling gripped Harry’s stomach, and it was a moment before he realised he was being spun around, Stanley’s powerful arms throwing him face down onto his bunk, where Harry fell with a grunt. His head reeled as he felt Stanley yank his trousers down to his knees, restricting what little movement he had left in this most vulnerable position. Harry did not protest; the sudden pressure he could apply to his prick in this position rendered him speechless, and he rutted against the mattress with a whine, not paying attention to Stanley as the man moved about behind him.  _ Spread out, pinned open _ . Harry whimpered as he felt his prick throb against the mattress, desperately seeking relief from the state Stanley had worked him into. But, as he felt the whisper of his crisis approach, he felt two large, strong hands press into his hips and hold him still. Stanley gripped him tightly, and Harry was faintly aware of how slender his hips felt beneath such large hands, how small he felt beneath this towering man. 

Harry yelped, a pathetic, high sound that dissolved into a moan, as he felt Stanley’s tongue ghost over his fundament, a slick, hot sensation that had him buck up for more. He felt Stanley’s growl vibrate through his buttocks and shaking thighs, and buried his head in his pillow as the doctor licked him open.  _ Devoured whole _ , his rapidly unreeling mind supplied, stuttering to a halt as the man’s tongue dipped inside him.

‘ _ Ahhhhh _ …’ Harry gasped at the invasion, such an alien sensation compared to any  _ inverted _ encounters he had experienced before.

So many of those encounters had been a simple matter of sucking and buggery, nothing as filthy as what Stanley was doing to him; his tongue thrusting into the core of Harry’s shuddering body. Alien, horrible,  _ wonderful _ , the slip of Stanley’s tongue within him was beyond any word he could conjure. Every so often it would tease at his rim, lapping at the furred, puckered skin there before worming its way back inside, each time causing Harry to bite down upon his wrecked, sopping sleeve. 

He felt Stanley’s breath against his hole when the man moved away, and Henry whined at the loss of the feeling. He tried to pull himself together, preparing to brace for what he could only assume would come next. Harry grunted in surprise as he felt Stanley heft him up from the mattress until his chest was flush to Harry’s back, keeping him upright as his prick rubbed over Harry’s softly furred thighs and arse. Harry whimpered as he felt some cold, slick substance trickle down his cleft, rubbing back against Stanley like a cat in heat as the man’s fingers shoved into him. He could feel how hard Stanley was against his delicate skin, his stand was long and slender, like the man himself, and it was radiating a forbidden heat as the doctor’s fingers twisted Harry open. 

Harry tried to bite down on his sleeve again, hoping to muffle the terrified little moans and whines that escaped his mouth, but Stanley had his arms held firmly to his sides, one arm tightly wrapped around him. The throbbing of his prick grew worse now he had been pulled up from the mattress, and Stanley’s fingers began to rub mercilessly on that wonderful little gland inside him, causing Harry to twitch as if electrified. He felt his stand growing wet from the steady stream of pre-ejaculate weeping from its tip, moaning into the air as Stanley stretched him open, disregarding the awful mess he must be making of his bunk. It stunned him, how the man held him up and open,  _ pinned him open _ , like this; his legs would surely give out if Stanley’s grip loosened. He gasped as Stanley wrenched his fingers out of him, barely giving Harry a moment before pushing into him in one aching, stretching motion. Harry could have  _ screamed _ at the sensation; the man’s fingers no substitute for the pinprick-perfect drag of his cockhead across Harry’s aching prostate. Stanley’s arm was tight across his chest, pinning him in place, and Harry  _ whined _ as he felt the doctor’s hand at his own prick, stunned that the man would stoop to touching him like this.

It was such a wholly unexpected way to be touched, for Harry, Stanley’s hand matching the curve of his prick from base to tip and rubbing in maddening, unrelenting circles, but  _ God _ was he grateful for any hint of relief from the rising pressure. Harry moaned as he felt Stanley’s teeth sink into his neck, writhing his head in an attempt to escape from the pulsing, glowing pain.

Stanley pounded into him, his prick splitting Harry open, and Harry felt a strangled cry grow at the base of his throat as the doctor rubbed at his prick with those long, scalpel calloused fingers. 

Harry was on fire; the push and pull of Stanley’s prick inside him - the bizarre rubbing sensation across his own stand - the hot, slavering sound of Stanley’s mouth by his ear as a beast in rut, it was not long before he was reduced to a slobbering, whimpering mess. He begged and pleaded for Stanley to give him some release, sobbing as the man refused to touch him in any other way than those firm, gliding circles. He ground his hips forward, gasping as Stanley slammed into Harry ever faster, prick filling Harry so entirely that he thought he might expire from the pressure. He whined for his release, pleading, weeping, as the drag of Stanley’s prick slowly rendered him speechless. 

‘ _ Please, _ ’ he begged, ‘ _ please...sir… _ ’

Harry cried out as he felt Stanley finally let go, seed filling him even further than the man’s prick, making his stomach cramp at the sensation of it. He was too far gone, too full, and Stanley continued to fuck him through it, hips pistoning until every last drop of his spend was wrung from him by Harry’s twitching hole. Harry thrashed and wailed as he felt his own crisis crash over him, agonising and perfect, even as his muscles cried out for a reprieve. Stanley milked him through it, fingers pressing firmly against Harry’s prick as his ejaculate coated the mattress below them. Harry whimpered and shook through his release; too exposed, too bare beneath Stanley’s hands. As a final, pathetic spurt of seed left his quickly softening prick, Harry inhaled sharply at the feeling Stanley pulled out of him. There was no finesse there, no care for the wince it caused Harry as his cockhead caught upon his rim.

Stanley’s arm unwound itself from Harry’s arms and chest, and Harry felt his legs collapse beneath him, falling to the floor with a moan. He could feel Stanley’s release trickling out of him, flushing with shame at the picture he must present. 

He tried to crane his head to see what Stanley was doing, now this bizarre coupling had assumedly concluded, but he felt a hand grip his hair tightly, refusing him movement. Pain bloomed across his scalp as he knelt in front of his bunk, pinned down in genuflection. Harry  _ ached _ , the bruises at his neck and chest burning beneath his skin, answering the ache of his hips and his hole. All of a sudden, Stanley’s voice was at his ear, that familiar, icy tone returning with a vengeance.

‘You will tell no-one, Mr. Goodsir.’ 

Harry nodded as best he could with the hand clasping his hair, gulping as Stanley released him with a shove. He shuffled around, still unable to stand as he watched the doctor straighten his clothes and hair. Stanley looked as if nothing had happened, not a hair or a cuff out of place, and Harry felt a bloom of shame across his chest as the doctor looked down at him.

‘Do tidy yourself up, Mr. Goodsir, you look absolutely dreadful.’

With that, Stanley swept out of his berth, shutting the door behind him with a quiet  _ click _ . Harry heaved a sigh of relief as quiet filled the room, and set about the task of tidying himself, as instructed.  _ Pinned and devoured, indeed _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 2 of The Terror Rarepair Week 2021; for the prompt 'Where did you get that?'.
> 
> My general thoughts here are that Stanley has planned his Carnivale barbecue, and has fixated on Harry as a suitable substitute for his wife. Harry seems to him a defenceless little creature who won't put up a fight, and who will let Stanley absolutely rail him as one last cursed and terrible hurrah before Stanley pulls on his clown shoes and sets fire to a gazebo.


End file.
